


Reminisces of the Clone Wars

by 20SomethingSuperHeroes



Series: Memoirs of a Jedi Apprentice [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Wars, Gen, Jedi, References to the Jedi Council
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20SomethingSuperHeroes/pseuds/20SomethingSuperHeroes
Summary: Ereh Saw Yzil shares some of her memories and experiences of fighting in the Clone Wars. Included are stories of her and her master Phish Nish's relationships with their clone troopers.22-19 BBY. (First three chapters, 22-21 BBY)





	1. Keepers of Peace Go to War

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I know I haven't updated this series in a while. I can't give any guarantees of if/when it will be completed. For now I just post what I can get written. At the start of this new year (2018) I felt a strong impression from the Force to complete some of the parts of my Jedi OC's story, including her ordeal related to Order 66. I am posting parts of her stories about the Clone Wars for more context about her relationships with her clone troopers. I will keep you updated as I go along.

Being a teenager is hard. Being a teenager during a war--and fighting in a war--is harder. But I wasn’t supposed to think of myself, or how hard things were for me.  
Jedi don’t pass judgment. They value things as they are, concentrate on the moment. So only looking back can I tell you how good or bad it was. 

We spent the next two standard weeks on Mashon, leading our army from city to city until the Separatists decided they’d had enough. When we reported our success to the Jedi council, they congratulated us on having liberated the planet, but then asked that we return to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant for special training for leading the clone army and fighting in the war. We took the Resilient and the rest of our fleet (minus five ships to watch over Mashon) to the Kathmor system nearby to assist Master Kitt Fisto in fighting the Separatists there, and then we boarded a shuttle back to Coruscant.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, General,” said Commander CC-2776 when he said goodbye to us, taking his helmet off and shaking hands with Phish.

“A pleasure to work with you as well, sir,” said Phish. “Master Fisto will take good care of you. We will meet again shortly, I hope.”  
“Very well, sir.” He nodded and smiled. He then called the other troopers in the hanger to stand to attention as Master Nish and I boarded our shuttle. I glanced over my shoulder at them briefly. I wasn’t sure I was going to miss them just yet.

Our trip to Coruscant was uneventful. The day after our arrival at the Jedi Temple, Master Nish and I went to a general meeting for all the masters, knights, and older padawans who had been asked to attend the conference. Some of them were on leave, as Nish and I were, from their troops, while others had yet to receive their assignments. When our training was finished, we would rotate out with the other Jedi who were still in the field. The first meeting was held in a square assembly room in the upper levels of the temple with tiered seating. Among those present were my master’s old padawan Kras Laran. He sat with us. 

Instructing the meeting was Master Timan Adari who stood by the holoprojector on the main floor and ran the presentation. 

Master Adari could give us very few details about the origin of the Clone Army. The army had been commissioned by Sifo-Dyas shortly prior to his death ten years ago, but no one had ever heard anything about it (“So that’s what happened to him,” somebody muttered). Furthermore, the clones, it had been discovered, were the progeny of a bounty hunter, but we were not told his name. We got a brief sketch of the incident on Geonosis that had sparked the war. You could feel the skepticism in the room quite palpably, and my master listened with his mouth twisted to one side.

Adari was, however, able to give us more details about the clones themselves. The Kaminoans had bred the clones to be perfect soldiers, to always obey orders and to work together and fight. The clones had been raised since birth to understand military strategy and weaponry. Physically they were in perfect shape for combat and their bodies could resist most known diseases. So it fell to us, their Jedi commanders, to use this army as a tool to bring the Separatists into submission. 

We were instructed in that session mostly on unfamiliar military terms, different troop formations and battle scenarios, and the requirements and expectations of our roles as commanders. Members of the Council and masters who were more familiar with warfare and battles and military technology took turns instructing us

There were other meetings held, over the following days, about more specific topics, such as understanding the structure and ranks of our army, how to identify the different clones, and the types of weaponry they used. There was a big presentation about the different battle vehicles and transports. We also had meetings about upgrades to vehicles and combat equipment that we Jedi now had available for use, most of these new items commissioned by the Senate to accommodate us in the war. We also had numerous meetings learning about our enemy, studying the tactics of the different Separatists commanders and identifying the different droids and vehicles and ships they used.  
Nobody took notes because Jedi were expected to memorize everything, but for a Padawan like myself that was a tall order. 

“I dunno, Master,” I commented after one long meeting. “I still couldn’t look over our troops and tell you which was which.”

“Well, when you get back in the field, it will get easier,” my master reassured me.

There were meetings at least once a day about the Separatists’ movements in different parts of the galaxy and the campaigns of the other Jedi in the field. Shortly after the start of the war, the Separatists seized control of several major hyperspace lanes going between the core and the outlying systems of the Republic. Master Nish and I expected that we would spend a good part of the war fighting there. The directive from the Jedi Council was that we would capture or kill as many Separatist leaders as possible, recapture systems that were claimed by the Separatists, and protect as many other worlds as possible from further attacks.

Nearly all of the Jedi commanders were to be outfitted with new Delta class fighters. Master Nish was positively displeased by the news, since he hated flying and I was a lousy pilot at best. But I told him that if he wanted to fight alongside our clone troopers we would need our own wings. 

The Jedi Council offered a refresher course on flying delta-class ships for beginning and veteran Jedi pilots. It was in a room similar to the chamber where we had had our first orientation, but with more screens devoted for displays on technical information--a room that hadn’t been used much in previous years. We got instruction from Master Plo Koon on how the fighters worked and what the displays looked like, since he was one of the best pilots in the Order to start with. 

In between the training sessions, I was with a group of older Padawans receiving additional training for wartime. I spent hours at simulators learning to fly different combat vehicles and studying instruction holobooks on how different weapons worked. I also went through lots of combat training with my lightsaber, studying techniques for fighting battle-droids. We had exercises where we would fight multiple training remotes that were meant to duplicate the actions of armed droids as well as sentient Separatist soldiers. I found out that a lot of the padawans and older younglings were getting similar combat instruction and learning how to command and fight with armies on top of their other studies. It seemed like the war was consuming every aspect of the Jedi Order’s activities. The thought made my master’s heart sink. However, it was decided that the best approach to ending the war as quickly as possible was to put as much effort into it as possible.

 

At the end of the training period, Master Nish and I were called before the Jedi Council and given the assignment to liberate a large group of systems in the Lyvo Sector that had been seized by the Separatists at the start of the war. To do this, however, we had to go before a certain Senate committee to have them approve our campaign strategy. A senate committee sounded like bad news, but we took an air taxi to the Senate building. 

I saw Padme Amidala again on this occasion. Padme Amidala had been one of the strongest opponents of the Military Creation Act, and her passionate involvement in this and other causes had led her to be one of the most influential members of the Senate at this time. She was also a firm supporter of the Jedi Order and used her influence to rally support for them in the senate. Her involvement with Skywalker and Kenobi at Geonosis, well….no one knew the full story, but she had been involved, and the incident had tarnished her reputation, considering how it led to the war breaking out. All I figured was that she had meant well in intervening there and it had gotten out of control. That was how Master Nish interpreted it too, but he was less forgiving. 

We were in the hallway outside the main chamber just as an assembly was breaking up, and coming out one of the senator’s boxes we saw Senator Amidala.

She saw us coming down the hallway. She was pleasantly surprised to see us, but she regarded us warmly (“Considering how we were her pawns in that one issue on her planet,” Nish would remark later). I was surprised she even remembered us.

“Master Phish Nish!” she exclaimed, gasping. 

We were walking right by her and Master Nish wanted to get away, but when she acknowledged us we had to stop and chat--which was perfectly fine with me. Master Nish and I both bowed to her.

“Senator Amidala.” 

“Master Nish? Has it really been so long?” 

“Ah, yes, indeed,” he said.

“Oh, Ereh saw Yzil!” she said, smiling at me. “You’ve grown up quite a bit. How are you?”

“I am doing well, my lady, especially on seeing you again.” She wasn’t a Queen anymore, but all female senators were addressed as ‘My Lady’. 

“My padawan means no disrespect,” said Master Nish.

“Oh, none taken,” she said. “And how is fighting the war going for you?”

“Ah, well, to be honest, it’s rather a waste of time,” Nish said bluntly.

“Master!” I exclaimed.

“And what makes you say that?” asked the Senator.

“Well, if you ask me, I like the clones, they’re good soldiers and all that, but I don’t think throwing an army at everything is going to solve all of the problems in the galaxy.”

“You’re quite right. It doesn’t,” she said.

“I admit, before all of this started, I was beginning to wonder how we were going to handle the Separatists. It’s...a solution. But it’s not the one I was looking for, I don’t think.”

 

“Your opinion is well-informed, Master Jedi,” said Senator Amidala. “But what I meant to ask was how are conditions in the field?”

“They are all right,” said Master Nish, “can’t complain. We’ve only been out once. Most of our soldiers are a lot more disciplined than my Padawan here--” He watched me scowl at him, --” but that means they get things done. We were just here to see the Lyvo Sector Committee about our upcoming campaign.” He went into further details and Senator Amidala nodded. She was genuinely listening to us. 

Master Nish would have continued, but she turned her attention to me. 

“So how old are you now, Yzil?” 

“Fourteen, my lady,” I said. 

“And how have your studies continued?” she asked me.

“They’ve been somewhat interrupted,” I answered, shrugging. “I mean, formally, of course. A lot of padawans like myself, we’ll be learning out in the field these days. But Master Nish I am sure would like to keep me back at the Temple.”

The Senator smiled at me. “Of course. You are growing to be a fine young lady. Well, I must be going, seeing as I have my own committee meeting in a few moments. But I wish you both the best in your work. I do hope our paths cross again.”

“Always a pleasure, my lady,” said Master Nish as we bowed to her.

“My lady,” I said.

“Please, call me Padme,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. She turned and left. I stared after her.

Master Nish gave me a weird look. He was displeased with me.

“What?” I said.

“You are much too familiar with her,” he said.

“Well, she’s too familiar with me, wouldn’t you say?” I asked as we resumed walking down the hallway.

“Yes, but just because she is no longer the queen doesn’t mean she is less deserving of your respect.”

“And by respect do you mean protocol?”

“If that is what you want to call it,” he huffed. “Really. I think it’s her fault, though. Just because Kenobi and Skywalker saved her life on Geonosis doesn’t mean she should be coddling up to every Jedi she meets.” 

We took care of our business with the Lyvo committee, though in the meeting we accomplished little more than their saying they would merely consider our proposal and give us a response with their suggestions in a few days. Afterward we left the senate building on an air-taxi. It was just the two of us in the back. 

I sighed. “I thought this war was about getting stuff done, Master.”

“Yes, well, leave it to the Galactic Senate to muddle everything,” Nish huffed. He brought up a related matter. “Do you remember the exercise I gave you about how things can be understood from different points of view?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, did you notice how Senator Amidala was listening to us earlier?”

“Yes, I did,” I said. “She is a good listener.”

“And what was she doing as she listened?”

“She was evaluating how your report of conditions in the field corresponded to her interests in the Senate. She wants to see if the work we are doing is in any way related to hers.”

“Very good observation. I give this as my personal opinion, but I think your friend the senator only wished to rehash my words and anecdotes for later use. But what is your point of view?” 

“Well, Master, I see how you could be right, but I also think, from my point of view, that her listening to us and seeing if your observations were relevant to her work was her way of trying to help. Our experiences matter to her, and if she wants to use our account as testimony before the Senate, then our interests count for something. She wants to be our voice to the rest of the Republic.” 

Master Nish nodded. “You try very hard to see the positive in this situation. This is good, but it is only a start. Do you see this as a distraction from her constituency on Naboo? Isn’t that where her first loyalty should be?”

“Of course, Master, but she also could see helping us as what her constituents would want her to do.” 

“Ah. Insightful. Very insightful, Yzil.” 

I smirked.

“What are you grinning about?” My master asked. 

“Admit it, you like her better now since she’s one of the people trying to end the war.”

“I find it hard not to.”

It didn’t look like she and the other opponents of the war were getting very far in the Senate, though. It was still up to the Jedi to do their part. 

We spent the next week at the Jedi temple and we returned to the Senate daily to ask about our proposal until it was finally approved. We got frequent holograms from our clones asking us about our progress. I thought it was cute how they missed us. 

When Master Nish left me alone, which wasn’t often, I found myself daydreaming about Senator Amidala, having a fantasy about being close friends with her and having tea with her in some sunlit garden on Naboo.


	2. Meet the 137th

After about two months on Coruscant, then, Nish and I finally left on a battle cruiser heading for Helatis. On the way we got to test out brand-new, combat-worthy Delta class fighters, fitted with astromech droids and hyperdrive rings. Our troopers in the 137th were happy to see us (the 201st and 131st had been reassigned elsewhere). Now it was time for the actual business of war to begin. 

I understood how the clone army worked now, and how the rankings and designations worked. But I still had a hard time keeping their call numbers straight.

“It doesn’t make sense for them to not have names, Master,” I complained when we were alone on the Resilient a short time after our arrival, as our fleet journeyed to Kadnas in the Lyvo sector. “The Jedi council instructed us to still treat them as individuals. And I’d have an easier time telling them apart anyway.”

“Yes, but we will have an easier time working with them as an army if we work by their rules,” Phish said to me. “We must help them to maintain their standard of discipline.” He paused, and then added, “But I think there may be accommodation for their individuality as time goes on.”

For starters, their appearances didn’t help, seeing as they all had the same shiny white armor. They were all the same height, which was a head taller than me. The officers had a few markings on theirs to distinguish rank, so I could keep them a little straighter. When they did take their helmets off for small group meetings, in their quarters or in the mess hall, they all had the same face. And the same voice. At first they nearly all had the same flat-top buzzcut, too, but one or two I noticed were bald completely or had mohawks. There was a little bit of feeling, among the troopers, of a need to distinguish themselves. 

It helped that there started to be a group of clone troopers that I worked with on a regular basis while I was continuing my combat training en route. I found as I worked with the clones that they sometimes shortened their numerical designations to the last two or three digits, depending on how well it rolled off the tongue. The trooper who had guided us into the Mashon Capitol complex, CL-2410, often went by One-O, for instance.There was CL-2559, who was one of 76’s lieutenants. And then there were CT-2230 and 2261, who “escorted” me from the deck to my quarters one night when Master Nish was irritated with me. I also noticed through the Force that some of the troopers remembered working with me on Mashon and had taken a little bit of a liking to me. I liked them back, they seemed friendly enough, but I felt bad that I couldn’t keep their designations straight.

There was a time a day or so after the engagement on Kadnas that I was walking around the ship looking for my master. There was a trooper coming out of the mess hall who came up to me.

“Commander Yzil, is there anything I can help you with?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for my mas--er, the General, he seems to have disappeared. Could you help me find him?”

“Yes, Commander.” The trooper stood up straight and held his blaster rifle in his arms while he walked next to me.

“Now which one are you, might I ask?”

“I’m CT-2261, sir, 399th Battalion, 16th Company, 3rd Platoon, 6th Squad.”

“Oh. All right.” I tried to remember these details. My master told me to focus on remembering the things that made each clone different--not that knowing which platoon, company, battalion, etc. would help me keep them straight.

“Where do you think he’s gone, sir?” Clone troopers addressed all of their Jedi commanders as “Sir” regardless of gender. 

I sighed lightly. “He’s probably gone off somewhere to meditate. He doesn’t get much privacy in his quarters, he’s found. The Commander or the ship’s captain is always calling him up about something.”

“Have you already checked his quarters?”

“Yes, and he wasn’t there.” 

“Have you tried calling him on the comlink?”

“Multiple times. He hasn’t responded.” 

“He must be pretty preoccupied, if I do say so, Commander.”

I huffed. “Even with a war going on, he still wants to do his daily meditation. It’s a good thing, at least, I’m not around when he wants to do that. Do you clones learn anything about the Force, on Kamino? Or about the Jedi?”

“We were expected to work under command of the Jedi from the start,” said the trooper. “So we know a bit about your beliefs and such.”

“Is that so?” I said. “So you guys are supposed to fight while we use the Force to decide how to fight the different battles?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Okay.” We continued walking for a few moments. I felt the Force nudging me to head down a certain corridor to find my master. I told the trooper to follow me. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten your number already,” I said. 

“CT-2261.”

“2261, got it. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Commander,” said 2261. “We’re all learning out here.”

We found my master shortly afterward. I thanked 2261 for his services and left him shortly afterward.

 

On another occasion, I was in an elevator with a trooper when he introduced himself to me.

“I don’t know if you remember me, Commander, but I was with you in Mashon City. I watched you cut up that one clanker.”

“Oh really?” I said. “What’s your number, then?” I asked him.

“CT-2239,” he said. “At your service.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

We were the only two people in the elevator. I expected him to say something next. But he was also expecting me to speak (yes, we do have awkward elevator situations in this galaxy). 

“I’m sorry,” I finally, said, laughing.

“It’s all right, Commander, I know the feeling.” He glanced away slightly, trying to think of something to say. “So...erm...where are you from? I mean, what planet?”

“Well, I’m from Coruscant, but I couldn’t say if I was born there. But I’ve been a Jedi for most of my life, so I’ve been all over.” Normally one would be required to ask where the other person was from at that point, but all the clones were from the same place. But that gave me a little insight for how to carry on the conversation. “So...what’s it like on Kamino?”

2239 shrugged. “It’s all gray and white except for training simulations. We lived indoors--everything outside is oceans and rains. On the inside it’s neat, orderly. It’s the military. Though we clones were never let outside of our training rooms.” He paused for a moment. Then he added something unexpected. “You know, the real world is quite a bit different, from there. Everything there was ordered and controlled, you ate when they said to eat, you fought when they said to fight, studied when they said to study. Almost no leisure time unless it was directed to building some kind of skills that we’d use later. Life there made sense, if you know what I mean. You didn’t have any reason to question why things were the way they were. But you spend your whole life getting ready to go out into the real world, and it surprises you, how different it is from the simulators. Here not everything runs smoothly or quite the way you’d expect. The cooks burn or spill things in the mess. Your armor gets beat up. Your squadmates quarrel in the sleeping quarters, your friends die in combat. Your enemy’s movements aren’t really as predictable. They do prepare you for that, but it can still be a bit of a shock to see how it plays out. You get my meaning?”

“I do,” I said, nodding. “Being a Jedi can have some of the same struggles. They tell you to expect one thing in the field, and it turns out to be another. You get taught one way in the Jedi Temple, and then on assignment in some far part of the galaxy your Master shows you a different way.”

The elevator stopped. We stepped out onto the bridge. “Well, I am glad to have met you, 2238.”

“It’s 2239, sir,” he corrected.

“2239, sorry,” I said.

“It’s all right,” he said, leaving me to report to his post while I went to speak with my master. When I meditated before bed that night, I had a few things to think about from what 2239 had told me. But when I laid down to sleep, I tried to review the numbers of the troopers I had met so far and think of ways to keep them straight. 2776 is the commander...2239 was on the elevator today...2261 helped me find my master that one time...2012 spit his food today in the mess hall...2398 also was on Mashon, he says...

 

We were heading into a second engagement with the Separatists in Kadnas when something funny happened. We were gathered with a group of the officers for a meeting. Commander CC-2776 was reading something from off of a datapad: “General Mundi sid to hold off the attack--”

“You mean ‘said’?” said his corporal, 2559. 

“Yes, right, that’s what I meant.”

Captain 2410 laughed aloud. My master raised an eyebrow. 

“Keep it down, trooper,” said Captain 2427. 2776 continued reading his report. Afterward we had a discussion. One-0 kept making comments about how the Commander “sid” something. That made the other troopers laugh quietly. I cracked a smile. Master Nish gave me a look, of course, but said nothing.

“Careful there, trooper,” said the Commander. “Don’t make me write you up for insubordination.”

After the meeting was over, I overheard two of the lower troopers talking, and one of them remarked, “Well, that’s what he ‘sid.’” I doubled over laughing. My master made me do an extra meditation that day. Looking back, it was worth it.

By the time we went into our next battle on one of the moons of Kadnas, the story of the incident had spread through the whole legion. I was with One-0’s company when the Commander gave a general order for all the troops to advance on the droids. One-O turned to his troopers and told them, “You boys heard what the Commander ‘Sid.’” The troops had a good laugh. “Let’s go get some clankers!”

During the battle, someone called the commander “Sid” and he responded. 

When we got back to our ship that night, everyone was calling him “Sid.” After that it was only a matter of time before the boys started to get nicknames, either from each other or themselves.

In a battle during the following days, one of the boys was complaining about something wrong with his blaster rifle and 2239 offered to “tweak” it for him. Ever afterward, 2239 was “Tweak.” 

Sid’s lieutenant, 2559, offered to switch his platoon during a proposed maneuver, and afterward someone in his platoon called him “Switch”. 

The 137th legion went to the planet Ytira to break a Separatist siege over the capital city. CT-2398 met someone there by the name of Clyde. Afterward, he told everyone to call him Clyde. No reason, he just liked the name. The nicknames more or less expressed their personalities. In a similar fashion, Captain 2427 chose the name Jace.

On Ytira, one of the troopers, CT-2364, came back with a dent in the piece of his armor. He wasn’t able to get a replacement part since there was a supply shortage. 2364 walked around with his piece of dented armor, and whenever the troopers saw him they’d just call him “Dent.” 

The 137th legion had its own fighter squadron. As a Jedi commander, I would be expected to go out flying with them in space battles. There was a day when we did practice maneuvers and I got to try out a V-19 torrent fighter. I was having a hard enough time with the controls--and like I said, I am a terrible pilot. But the fighter squadron commander, CL-2508, was not only an ace pilot but a show-off, and while I was struggling he had the audacity to fly his fighter in loops around mine.

“I’m gonna call you Loop,” I said, partly to myself, but I had my comlink on so he could hear me.

Loop’s right-hand man was 2012, who referred to our fighters as a “bracket”. He just liked to be different, I guess. “I’ll send in this bracket to harass the clankers,” he said on more than one occasion. The other pilots started calling him Bracket since he abused the word so much. You could never be too careful around these guys.

Some of the troopers with nice even or odd numbers got to go by nicknames close to their numerical designations. CT-2388, for instance, became known as “Eights.” He would get kind of cocky in battles sometimes so we’d call him Crazy Eights.

One day during the campaign there was an uproar in the soldiers’ quarters because CT-2034 found a gray hair on his head. 

“I thought we were all the same age on this boat, trooper,” his friend 2549, “Bug” teased him.

“Well, actually, I am a little older than some of you,” said 2034 modestly. But after that everyone called him “Gray.”

And then there was the time that 2261 went to see the medic and found out he was a little bit underweight. Everyone poked fun at him for weighing less. Sometimes when he wasn’t in his armor his squad mates would pinch his arms and compare biceps. The real difference, if any, was negligible. But after that everyone called him “Lightweight.”

Even the officers, though a little hesitant at first, got into the name game. One time when he was off-duty, One-O got irritated at one of his troops and threatened to give him a Wet Willie. I was watching and didn’t know what a Wet Willie was. One-O removed his bucket and stuck his finger in his mouth, and then he walked up to me and held up the finger to my ear. The troopers watching jeered as I backed away nervously. So One-O from then on was known as Willie or Willie One-O. 

Time started to pass. Though we were busy day in and day out going from planet to planet fighting the Separatists, the soldier’s camaraderie was fun to watch and lightened up the mood of an otherwise grim existence.

“I am glad you are learning to work with them, Yzil,” my master told me once when we were on our own. “But may I remind you that it is not a good idea to get attached to them.”

“Why not, master?” I asked. “Well...aside from the fact that attachment isn’t good for you.”

“Because this is a war, Yzil. The clones were created to fight and die. The next battle coming up, one or two of them might die. They’ll be replaced in the ranks, but you will miss them.”

“I understand, master,” I said.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you will do as I tell you.”

What he didn’t say to me was that he was getting attached to the clones, too. He went from calling them “the clones” to “our clones” to “our boys” in a matter of weeks. I didn’t bring it up, however: it wasn’t my place to rebuke him for his own faults. 

 

But he wasn’t kidding when he said that the troops weren’t exempt from dying even if they had names. While we were still in the Lyvo sector, we had a battle on a desert moon of the planet Tebeth. We were fighting the droids on the edge of a dusty cliff when a rocket hit the side and it collapsed, taking down a group of troops with it. Most of them were able to shoot up their cables to attach to the side of the cliff. 

Dent, however, was still falling with the rest of the debris. I heard him yelling as he went down.

“Dent!” I shouted, running up to the edge of the cliff. I was ready to dive off and save him. My master and Jace grabbed me before I could jump, however. Dent hit the bottom and died on impact. 

The clones who were scrabbling up the cliff face were having a hard time of it. The cliff was still unstable from the rocket blast, and the droids at the bottom were picking them off. Some of them dangled helplessly from their cables once they were shot. Some of them fell when the droid blasts hit their cables. Of course all it would take was for another droid rocket to finish all of them off at once. Master Nish and Commander Sid wanted everyone still on top of the cliffs to stay away from the edge and finish off the droids. But those clones didn’t want to see their fellow troopers left behind. And I didn’t either. A bunch of us went to the cliff edge and tried hauling them up by hand and then raising them over the sides. Some of them we rescued. Others got shot or had their lines snap on the way up. I was helping up Eights, for instance. He walked up the cliff and climbed up his line, and he was making good progress. But he was getting tired.

“Come on, Eights! You’re almost there!” I was waiting for him at the top, with Tweak right behind me to help him up when he made it.

“You can do it, trooper!” Tweak shouted in encouragement.

Boosted by our cheering, Eights took a deep breath and started pulling himself up again. But then his line’s anchor to the cliff started to give way.

“No, no!” I shouted. I reached over the cliff and grabbed the anchor, determined to hold it in place. 

Tweak grabbed me by the waist. “Easy there, Commander!” He said.

Eights pulled himself upward on the rope. He was close enough that I could hear his panting. The rope, however, was starting to unravel a little bit. I couldn’t believe it--clone troopers had some of the best-made equipment in the galaxy. But the threads began to unwind and stretch. 

Just hold a little longer, I said in my mind, trying to hold together the rope with the Force. Just hold a little longer.

Eights grabbed the rope one more time, right below where the rope was breaking apart. As soon as his weight was on it, two of the threads snapped. Eights slipped.

“No!” I shouted.

Eights tried to pull himself up again. Tweak held out his blaster rifle. Eights pulled himself up and reached for it, but then the rope snapped completely. Eights screamed as he fell to the bottom.

“EIGHTS!” I shouted. I reached out to him, trying to use the Force to hold him up and lift him back. But nothing happened. He just continued falling. 

“NOOOOO!” I screamed. Tweak pulled me away from the cliff face. I retreated behind our firing line, ashamed of myself. 

Master Nish gave me a stern rebuking when the battle was over, but it wasn’t like I needed it. I felt horrible. Eights was in perfect physical condition. He should have made it. It couldn’t have been his fault, could it, for pulling on the rope in the wrong spot? Or maybe it was. Maybe if Tweak had reached out his blaster rifle sooner, or maybe if we’d had different equipment for hauling him up, or if I’d used the Force to just carry him all the way.

It was my fault, I felt. I couldn’t allow anyone else to be blamed for it.

Master Nish told me not to dwell on it. But it wasn’t like their deaths didn’t affect me. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. 

I didn’t see them as expendable, either. Every trooper, as I got to know him, had his own special place in the legion. Every one of them could make a difference in the war we were fighting. They called each other “brothers,” and I couldn’t help but thinking of them as my brothers. My family. 

I knew what my responsibility was to these guys. They were the protectors of the Republic now. They were going to stop the Separatist threat. And if they were going to do their job, I needed to do mine. So I strove to be the best commander I could. 

 

One of the last clone troopers of that original bunch to get a name was CT-2419 . He was a little more reserved than the other troopers, a little quieter, not as given to rowdiness or bawdy talk. He didn’t think he was anything special--he never did anything impressive in battle, didn’t make himself a hero to his squad or platoon, never tried to show off. In the interm we just called him Four-nineteen. 

We were in a city in the planet Asarda, running through the ruins of a former residential area that the droid army had gone through and ransacked. The people who had fled had left a lot of personal possessions, not much of which was salvageable. But while I was in a house waiting for the droids to come back around for an attack, 419 and his Sergeant, 2374, aka Brandy, started talking.

“Trooper, get over here! Why aren’t you in position?” Sergeant Brandy shook his head for 419 to come over and join us at the window.  
419, however, was rummaging through a rubbish ple in the far corner of the house.

“I’ve found something, sir,” said 419.

“What is it, a bomb?” 

I looked over at him.

419 stood up, holding a piece of torn, wooly cloth. “What do you think, Sarge?”

“419, put that rubbish down this instant!”

“I like the color, sir.”

The sergeant swore at him. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. I need you to get back out there and see what the droids are doing--what are you doing, trooper?”

“I’m putting it where I can have it later, sir,” said 419, trying to tie the cloth around his arm.

“Soldier! You know you’re not supposed to collect personal items, much less while you’re in battle!”

“I wasn’t going to keep it. Just to look at later.”

Brandy cursed again while 419 fumbled with the cloth.. 

“Here,” I said, walking over to 419. “Let me help you.” I tied the cloth around his arm just above the elbow. It was coarsely made and patterned with narrow bands of color, mostly brown but a few green and yellow, woven in alternating diagonal lines. 

“Er, Commander?” Brandy asked me, confused.

“He’s not doing any harm, Sergeant,” I said. “The droids don’t even know we’re here. They’re further down the alley in that direction. I suggest we go and find them.”

“Oh--okay, Commander.”

“You can write up 419 for insubordination later,” I said. “Cursing at him isn’t going to help. We’ve got a job to do.”

“Right you are, sir. Move out, trooper!”

419 picked up his blaster rifle and followed us out of the ruined building. Sure enough, the droids were waiting for us further down the street. We had a brief firefight with them. Brandy served one of the super battle droids an EMP, which we liked to call a “droid popper,” and then we continued on through the maze of ruined buildings to find more droids to fight. The scrap of cloth drew odd looks from the other troopers when we found them, but other than that it wasn’t a hinderment to 419’s fighting. In fact 419 was on a roll that day. He threw a popper at a droideka before it got its shield set up, and he went behind enemy lines to plant a grenade on a droid tank. 

Sergeant Brandy had 419 written up for insubordination. Wondering if he wasn’t right in the head, he also sent him to the medic for a psych evaluation. The medic, however, didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with 419, at least nothing that would keep him out of combat. Just a mild personality difference, was all. Sergeant Brandy was irritated but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Master Nish informed 419 that the type of cloth he had found was called tweed. 419 really liked the pattern and he painted a similar pattern on his shoulder-plate and on his arm-plating. From thereon out, 419 was referred to as “Tweed.”


End file.
